


Epidemic

by kerravon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hypochondria, Illness, Plague, Podfic Welcome, Team, Whump, self-sacrificing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:27:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerravon/pseuds/kerravon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when Atlantis encounters a Pegasus Galaxy virus? Can Beckett figure out a treatment, and at what cost?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epidemic

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis is not mine; the following work of fanfiction is for fan enjoyment only. No profit is being made.

# Epidemic

 

By Kerr Avon

 

**1. Toys-Я-Us**

****

****

Carson Beckett was a happy man.  Whistling, he carefully measured five drops of the reagent into the blood sample from Halling.  As deceitful as the Genii had been, they _did_ have a point; the humans from this galaxy were much more likely to have the Ancient gene than the ones from Earth.  Initially he had tested Teyla, who was negative for the gene, but one person was hardly a representative sample.  It had only taken a few hours to collect and label blood samples from the nearby transplanted Athosian village, and now he was happily testing them for the gene.  If they were lucky, there might be several people as potentially adept at using the Ancient technology as Major Sheppard.  He would no doubt be relieved to be free from some of the, “Hey Major, touch this” calls that he fielded day and night.  While the gene therapy had worked to a limited extent, no one yet treated had developed Sheppard’s instinctive control or intuitive divination of the function of a given device.

 

“I have to see Beckett.”

 

Carson sighed as he gently set down his sample.  The voice in the hallway was that of Rodney McKay, the most persistent bed of neuroses on Atlantis.  _‘He must be back from that planet…what was it…Velanos.   Oh well.  Should have known that the quiet wouldn’t last.’_ The astrophysicist didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘no’, and when he wanted to see Dr. Beckett, he would.  There was no use fighting it, so the physician thought he might as well get it over with.  Just then Rodney burst into the room.

 

Beckett sighed and closed his eyes, not turning around.  “What is it this time? Appendicitis? Ulcers? Brain tumor? Exotic parasites?” Beckett was _really_ not in the mood for their resident hypochondriac.  Resignedly, he thought, _‘Of course, even hypochondriacs get sick and die of something…eventually’_

 

“No, no, no! That’s not it at…” Beckett’s words finally sunk in.  “Do you think I might have a brain tumor?” McKay transformed from bubbly to concerned in a matter of seconds.

 

 _‘Me and my big mouth.’_   “No, Rodney, I was being facetious.” He sighed again and turned around, pasting a fake smile on his face.  “What can I do for you today?”

 

McKay himself produced a Cheshire-cat grin.  “No, Carson, today the question is ‘What can _I_ do for _you_?’” He strode up and punctuated his remark by poking a finger into the physician’s chest.

 

 _‘Oh joy, GAMES.  What did **I** ever do to deserve this?’_ Carson groaned inwardly to himself, but externally managed to maintain his forced smile.  “All right, then: what can you do for me?”

 

McKay rocked heel-to-toe in anticipation, like a child at Christmas who can hardly wait for his non-smoking mother to unwrap the ashtray he made her.  “Come with me; I’ll explain on the way.”

 

Beckett thought longingly of his research, but realized that it would wait more patiently than Rodney would.  “Give me a second.” He carefully stored his reagents and turned off his equipment, then followed the excited astrophysicist.

 

“Grodin and I found a cache of maps of this facility in one of the Ancient computers this morning, and began comparing them to the areas we’ve explored.  The maps were unlabelled, so we set about labeling them ourselves.  That’s when we noticed it.”

 

Beckett rolled his eyes; the games were continuing.  “Noticed what, McKay?” he ground out.

 

“The space.  The rather large empty space surrounding three sides of the Jumper Bay.” He drew a circle with his hands.  “The ancients clearly wanted it easily accessible, but concealed from casual observers.  Our hypothesis is that it was a later renovation, after the war against the Wraith had come to Atlantis.  Unless you actually measured the inside and the outside of the bay, you wouldn’t have a clue it was there.”

 

Beckett was getting annoyed.  “What was there, Rodney?”

 

This time McKay ignored him, continuing as if he hadn’t been interrupted.  As they entered the bay, he strode up to the wall on the far right.  “We’ve been by this entrance a million times and no one ever suspected its existence.”

 

“What is it?!?”  Beckett was tired of guessing; this had better be worth his time…

 

McKay widened his eyes, all innocence.  “Why, the Ancient’s medical facility, of course.” Slapping a hand to an almost-invisible panel, he grabbed the doctor and hauled him inside.

 

Beckett’s jaw dropped.  It was incredible.  A curved ward about 14 feet wide arched in both directions, clearly hugging the contours of the Jumper Bay.  The room they entered appeared to be an intake area.  A row of beds with overhead diagnostic machines lined the outer wall, while the inner had a series of desks and work areas.  On either side of the room were sliding glass doors similar to the ones that went to the balconies.  He reverently touched the nearest bunk, and was rewarded with the diagnostics instantly lighting up.  He realized with awe that he understood what each of the readouts meant, as if his brain were being directly informed.  Pulse, blood pressure, respiratory rate, skin temperature, oxygen saturation, pH, water content percentage…it was all there.  “This is…amazing,” he finally managed to stammer.

 

McKay looked slightly confused, however.  “That’s funny.  It didn’t do that for Grodin or me.  In fact, it didn’t light up at all.” His eyes narrowed as something occurred to him.  “Let me run a theory by you...”

 

“Sure, anything.” Carson replied distractedly.  He felt like a child on his first visit to Toys-Я-Us.  He headed towards the next section.

 

“In Antarctica, you required a great deal of effort to get the weapons controller to respond, and tremendous concentration to activate and subsequently deactivate the missile.  Yet Sheppard, a soldier, did so without even knowing anything about the device.  Now we find a repository of medical equipment, and it’s lighting up for you, a physician, like the New York skyline.”

 

Beckett had wandered through the doors.  This room appeared to be filled with diagnostic scanning equipment that was too large to be readily mobile.  He reached for the nearest device, this time on the inner wall, which obligingly lit up as brightly as the diagnostic beds in the previous room.  “This appears to do virtual endoscopy…” he muttered after a moment.

        McKay watched as the physician moved on to the next instrument.  “This is a viral scanner…” he murmured, “and look, it can produce a recommended treatment regimen!” He examined the machine more closely.  “It can be used for patients here or at remote locations.  See? You can either have the patient lie down on the gantry,” he gestured to the attached table-like projection, “Or you can insert a blood sample here.” He pointed to a slot on the front console.

 

McKay stared on thoughtfully as the diagnostic machines lit up under Beckett’s respectful touch.  “My theory is that you couldn’t activate the machine in Antarctica because it was a _weapon_ ; your entire persona is devoted to _saving_ lives, not _taking_ them.  This medical bay matches your personal priorities...Your raison d'etre,” He paused.  “I wonder if Sheppard could activate _these_ as easily as you do…”

 

“Come over here a minute.” Carson snagged Rodney before the scientist could object and forcibly laid him on a bed next to his ‘viral scanner’. 

 

“Now hold on…” McKay began to object.

 

Beckett flashed Rodney a crooked but preoccupied grin as he stared at the monitor over the astrophysicist’s head.  “Just think of this as payback for making me sit in 'that chair'…” He touched a button on the control panel before McKay could open his mouth.

 

A fluorescent blue line suddenly appeared and, beginning horizontally at Rodney’s feet and worked its way slowly up to the top of his scalp.  Beckett examined the readout raptly as McKay jumped up, offended.  “Hey, that hurt you know.”

 

Carson just grunted “Uh-huh” as his eyes lit up with delight.  He pointed to the monitor.  “See here? This says that you’re clear of any significant virus, but that you’re about to have some impressive allergic reactions to some flower pollens wafting in from the mainland.”

 

“What?! Where do you see that?” McKay came around the machine to stare incredulous at the monitor Beckett pointed at.

 

“Right here, don’t you see?

Rodney got snidely defensive.  “No, I don’t actually.  All I see is random numbers and lines.’

 

Beckett blinked and turned his attention to McKay.  “Really?”

 

McKay nodded in irritation.  “Yes, really.”

 

Beckett shrugged.  “Maybe it just makes sense to me, given my background.  Look, even you can see that this is where you insert the blood samples when you don’t want to have to analyze the whole person’s body!” He pointed out the previous slot on the control console.

 

Rodney decided to leave before the doctor started drawing blood.  “Well, I’ll just leave you to it, shall I.  Eh? Perhaps I’ll go tell Weir that we’ve found a new home for our infirmary.”

 

“Sure, sure…” Beckett had wandered off to the next machine.  As Rodney slid the door shut on his way out, he caught another “Would you look at this?” coming from the physician; “It's a completely open MRI - how did they do that?  Where are the coils?”  He shook his head and started towards the control center.

 

 

 

It took only a few days to move all the Earth-origin medical equipment to its new home.  The new infirmary appeared to be compartmentalized; beyond the scanning room was a patient care ward, and beyond that was more oversized diagnostic equipment.  Next came what appeared to be an ICU, followed by even more complex evaluating machines.  The next chamber required manual activation to open the door, and could only be opened from _outside_ the room.  Beckett discovered this by becoming trapped in it for almost an hour before someone came looking for him.

 

“It’s an isolation room,” he concluded in satisfaction.  “That way the occupants can only be released once the doctor has cleared them.” Afterwards they located a separate entrance so the other patient care areas wouldn't be exposed to those isolated to get to quarantine.

 

The move to the new area went comparatively smoothly.  The whole base pitched in, as everyone either had a vested interest in making certain that their infirmary was top-notch or simply liked Dr. Beckett.  Even McKay was seen by reputable observers hauling a box or two.   Within the week both daily sick-call and post-mission health screens were being performed in the Ancient infirmary immediately adjacent to the Jumper bay.

 

**2. Is There a Doctor in the House?**

****

****

Beckett was pouring over one of the devices when a throat cleared loudly behind him.  Even though startled he managed not to jump, but straightened stiff muscles and turned towards the door.  “What can I do for you, Major?”

 

Sheppard leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.  “Actually, I was wondering if _you_ needed help.  It’s after two AM.”

 

Carson rubbed blurry eyes and focussed on his watch.  “Huh.  What do you know?” He combed his fingers through his hair in embarrassment.  “Guess I lost track of time.” Excitement suddenly lit his eyes, “But look at this; it’s the most…”

 

“I don’t care if it makes my bed and cooks me breakfast.  You can show me tomorrow.” He tried to look stern, as if he were speaking to the Athosian children.  “Right now, bed.”

 

Feeling surprisingly like a recalcitrant youngster, he responded, “Sure, right after I…

 

“Now.” His brow creased as he got a closer look at the physician.  “When’s the last time you slept, anyway? You look as bad as McKay when he’s on a caffeine jag.”

 

“Oh, surely not…”

 

“Glanced in a mirror lately?”

 

Beckett raised an eyebrow.  “Oh?  Then what’s your excuse?”

 

The Major had the grace to appear chagrined, then replied defensively, “Hey, I was just up getting a snack and saw you working in here and stopped to say hello.”

 

“Sure ‘n ya were,” drawled Carson, his brogue thickening.  He then crossed his arms and stared skeptically at the Major.

 

Sheppard shifted uncomfortably under the gaze, then finally spread his hands in defeat.  “Look, I was worried about you, all right? You’ve hardly been out of this ‘sickbay’ of the Ancients for over a week now.  According to Nurse Galas, you’ve only eaten when they’ve force-fed you, and you catch ‘catnaps’ on a spare bunk in the corner.” He turned serious.  “I know the technology's fascinating, but it _will_ be there in the morning; at the rate you’re going, _you_ soon won’t be.” He gave his patented ‘work with me on this one’ smile, then tossed out his ace, “Your staff really cares about you, and they’re pretty worried right now.” He left out the part where the Chief Nurse had threatened to go to Weir about Doctor Beckett’s condition if she found him slumped asleep over his research **_again_** _._

 

Beckett sighed, then ran a hand over the stubble on his chin consideringly.  “I suppose you’re right,” he admitted in defeat.  He _was_ so tired he could hardly see straight enough to work.

 

“Come on; I’ll walk you to your quarters.”

 

Reluctantly Carson flipped off the machine he was experimenting with, nodded, and headed for the door.

 

\------------------

 

“Hey Markham, come on! We’re gonna be late for duty.” Stackhouse knocked impatiently on his friend’s door.

 

“Yeah, yeah.  Gimme a second, I’m lacing up my boots.” The tired voice filtered back.

 

“You know how the Sarge gets when we’re late.” Stackhouse glanced nervously at his watch.

 

“The guy outranks us by less than a year…” Markham grumbled as the door slid open.

 

Stackhouse stared at his disheveled friend.  “Man, you look like shit.  You sick or something?”

 

“Aw, I think I’ve caught a cold.  I was up half the night coughing, and the other half either sweating or freezing.”

 

“You seriously need to report to sick-call today.   I’ll make sure everyone knows where you are.”

 

Markham slumped.  “You know, you’re right.  I’ll go there now.”

\-------------------

 

Beckett looked up from the device he was evaluating as the PA came over.  “Sir, I’d like you to take a look at Sergeant Markham.”

 

Carson’s eyebrows raised, as he usually didn’t get asked to see 'sick-call' patients.  “Certainly.  What seems to be the problem?”

 

“Well, he’s febrile to 101.6, tachycardic at 126, and mildly hypotensive with a BP 106/54.  If we were home, I’d say he has the flu.  But you said that you wanted to see anybody with a new febrile illness…”

 

Beckett squelched a small shiver of anxiety and went to see his patient.

 

 

“All right, say ‘Ahhh’.”

 

Markham did as he was told, although his throat hurt terribly.  Beckett peered inside with a small flashlight and tongue depressor.

 

“Very good.  Swallow.” He palpated the sergeant’s neck for possible enlarged lymph nodes.  As the exam continued, he had to agree with his PA; this looked a lot like the flu. 

 

“When was the last time you were off-world?” He was jotting information down on Markham’s thin medical chart.

 

“A little over two weeks ago.”

 

 _‘Hmmm…most viral diseases incubate in seven days, so he probably caught this here on base somehow.’_   “Have you been anywhere unusual on base in the last week to ten days?”

 

Markham thought hard about the question, then shook his head.   “No…no, just the same places I’ve been since we arrived.  Why? What’s wrong with me?”

 

“Well, you look like you have the flu.  The only problem is, we’re a small community, and no one else has it.  In fact, other than trauma and the occasional wound infection, the base has been exceptionally healthy.” He looked apologetic, but firm.  “Until I’m certain that this isn’t some new, exotic, Pegasus-strain virus, I’m afraid you’re stuck here.”

 

Markham looked like he wanted to argue, but felt so miserable that he sullenly acquiesced.  Beckett smiled, then escorted the young man to a bed.

\---------------

 

“Achoo!”

 

“Gesundheit.” Sheppard shot Rodney a glance across the mess hall table at breakfast.  “Hey.  You coming down with something?”

 

McKay pulled out a crumpled handkerchief and loudly blew his nose.  “No,” he replied nasally.  “When Atlantis surfaced I _said_ there’d be allergens; I now have the hay fever from hell.  I get it every spring.”

 

Sheppard looked vaguely disgusted as McKay blew his nose again…loudly.  “Why don’t you see Beckett about some antihistamines? It’s gotta be better than suffering like this.”

 

“Antihistamines make me drowsy, and I need to be on my toes.” He snuffled briefly, then sneezed again.  This time he didn’t quite get his mouth completely covered, and managed to hit the Major with a fine spray.

 

Rolling his eyes in distaste, Sheppard decided not to make a big deal out of it, just avoid it.  Rising, he said, “Well, I need to get to the Jumper Bay, or I’ll be late for my class.”

 

Rodney, talking around a large mouthful of toast with marmalade, asked, “What class is that?”

 

“I’m teaching about twenty of our more talented people on base the fine art of Jumper piloting.  After all, we can hardly afford to be limited to only one pilot if we ever want to find _anything_ in the Pegasus Galaxy.”

 

Rodney nodded his approval.  “Good idea.” He took a long swig from his coffee cup, then stood himself.  “I need to be getting to my lab anyway.”

\---------------------------

 

“Achoo!”

 

“McKay, that’s getting _really_ irritating.” Kavanagh wasn’t a patient man to begin with, and the loud sneeze in the relative quiet of the workroom had caused him to fumble the connection he’d been working on.  He gestured at the device in frustration.  “Now I have to start the sequence all over again.”

 

“Oh, so sorry,” replied Rodney in a voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm.  “I didn’t mean to _inconvenience_ you with my suffering over here.” He blew his nose loudly to demonstrate his misery.  “It’s the damn pollen.  I’m terribly allergic.

 

Kavanagh squinted his eyes in distaste.  “So take something for it already.  That’s just disgusting.”

 

Now Rodney became indignant.  “Kavanagh, this is _my_ lab; if you don’t like it here, _LEAVE_.”

 

The taller scientist shot him a surly glare; McKay had the best mass spectrometer on the base, and he needed it for his current project.  Remaining silent, he turned back to his work with poor grace.

 

Rodney, clearly cheered by his verbal victory, assumed a smug expression and turned back to his own experiment and was soon completely engrossed in his work.  He had to hurry if he wanted to finish this stage before his team’s mission that afternoon.

 

**3. Letting Them See You Sweat**

 

 

“Good luck, then.” Weir said as SGA-1 headed through the Gate.  The four were going on a routine trading mission with the Aramians, a small agrarian village that had a long history of trading with the Athosians.  Sheppard knew that Rodney thought this was an incredible waste of his talents, but right now he suspected that the scientist would be grateful for anything that got him away from Atlantis and the warm pollen-filled breezes drifting through the open corridors.  Smirking to himself at the genius’ discomfiture, the Major entered the wormhole.

 

Exiting on the other side, he stumbled slightly as the ground suddenly tilted to the right.  It straightened immediately, and he realized that it had been a transient wooziness on his own part.  _‘Whoa!  Where’d that come from?’_ He waited for a moment, but the episode didn’t repeat itself.  Shrugging, he started towards the nearby village.

 

The day was positively stunning.  The yellow sun shown down on the golden fields of grain as they walked the well-worn path to the Chief’s hut.  On the way they exchanged smiles and waves with the villagers working at the harvest.  Rodney inhaled deeply.  “Ah, nothing like autumn to eliminate the pollen from spring flowers.” He considered for a moment.  “Unless it’s winter snow; that tamps it down, too.”

 

“Allergies better?” Sheppard was grateful in his own right; he had gotten tired of being sneezed on.

 

“Much.” McKay took a deep breath in through his rapidly-clearing nose.  “Even my sense of smell is coming back.” As they continued to walk, he pressed a finger on each side of his nose.  “Hey! My sinuses are draining!”

 

Sheppard winced.  _‘Need-to-know information that I did **NOT** need to know!’_ he thought to himself.  The visual alone… he felt a shiver run down his spine, and abandoned that train of thought entirely.  To distract himself from McKay’s bodily functions, he dropped back a few steps to walk beside Ford.  “Hey Lieutenant, long time no see.”

 

Ford smiled slightly.  “I’ve been around.”

 

Getting a better look at the young man, the Major creased his brows in concern.  A fine sheen of sweat covered his face, and he seemed overly concentrated on the path in front of him.  “Ford, are you alright?”

 

Aiden glanced at his commanding officer.  “Sure sir, why do you ask?” Taking his eyes off the path even momentarily resulted in his tripping on a small stone in the road, requiring Sheppard to grab his elbow to keep him from falling.  The major felt a fine tremor in the Lieutenant’s arm that hadn’t been visible.

 

“Because you look like shit.” Sheppard stopped dead, necessitating Ford to stop as well.  McKay and Teyla halted and came back out of curiosity.  “What gives?”

 

Ford shrugged.  “I dunno.  Guess I might be catching a cold or something.”

 

“Well, you shouldn’t be here then.” Sheppard’s voice brooked no argument.  “We don’t want to spread our germs all over the Pegasus Galaxy.”

 

“Not to mention spreading them to us,” added McKay.

 

A light dawned in Aiden’s eyes.  “I didn’t think of that, sir.”

 

Sheppard shot him a quick half-smile.  “I’m sure you didn’t.  I want you to head back to the Gate and report to the infirmary, got it?”

 

“Yes, sir,” he replied tiredly.  He stumbled slightly as he turned to go, and Sheppard caught his shoulder.

 

“Are you OK to get back on your own?” he asked as his level of concern increased.

 

Aiden nodded.  “Yes, Major.  I can make it.”

 

Sheppard stared at him suspiciously, then tightened his lips and gave a quick nod.  “Alright then, go.” He jerked his head back in the direction of the Gate.

 

“Thank you, sir.” Ford headed back the way they had come without further incident.  Sheppard watched him in concern for a few minutes, the turned back towards the hamlet.

 

“Let’s get this over with, then go check on him.” The others nodded, and the three set off again.

 

 

The local customs insisted on a three-course meal complete with wine prior to opening any type of negotiations.  While the cuisine was excellent, Sheppard found that he had no appetite and only picked at his food.  McKay, however, more than made up for the Major’s lack of enthusiasm, and after two reiterations of ‘Are you going to eat that?’, John simply traded his full plate for the scientist’s empty one.  The village leader beamed at the fervor with which Rodney attacked the meal, while frowning with slight disapproval at Sheppard’s poor intake.  Sheppard didn’t care; the wine was giving him a headache and the food making him nauseated.  After dessert, he let Teyla do most of the talking, ultimately striking a deal that both parties were pleased with.  He managed to be polite in their good-byes, promising to send men the next day with the agreed-upon items, and to pick up the foodstuffs in exchange.  As he stood to go, the world swayed alarmingly, and he felt a hand on his own elbow.

 

“I think you shall be joining Lieutenant Ford in the infirmary.” His lack of appetite had not slipped past the observant Athosian.  Teyla turned to their host in apology.  “I am sorry, but our leader appears to be ill.  Thank you for your generous hospitality.  The goods will arrive in the morning as agreed.”

 

The village head was gracious.  He bowed, “We wish for his speedy recovery, and will have the grain and fruit ready for the exchange.”

 

Teyla smiled and bowed deeply herself, keeping a firm supporting hand on the Major’s arm.  As the three headed back to the Gate, Sheppard tried to disengage her from his elbow.  Out of the corner of his mouth he hissed, “Come on, Teyla, this is embarrassing.  I can walk on my own.”

 

She regarded him skeptically.  “That remains to be seen.  Nevertheless…”

 

As she released him, he swayed for a moment, then straightened and headed firmly down the path under his own power.  Teyla raised an eyebrow doubtfully, then hurried to catch up.  McKay wordlessly shrugged, then trailed, taking care not to approach the Major.

 

As they hiked the mile or so back to the Stargate, Sheppard’s condition rapidly deteriorated.  He began to stumble after only a few hundred yards, and then sweating profusely shortly thereafter.  A concerned Teyla called for a rest stop after they were only halfway home.

 

Sheppard gratefully dropped his pack and sank to the grass beside the path.  Teyla noted that his BDU jacket was drenched in sweat, as was his hair.  She snagged his canteen off his LBE (Load Bearing Equipment) then uncorked and proffered it.

 

“Drink.”

 

Feverish but grateful eyes silently met hers, then a trembling hand grasped the canteen and brought it to parched lips.  As he drank greedily, McKay squatted near (but not too near) to the pair and stared at the Major.  “You look terrible!” he blurted.

 

Handing the canteen back to Teyla, Sheppard dragged the back of his hand across his mouth and glared at Rodney.  “Thanks for the assessment, McKay.” Pulling his knees up, he propped his forehead on them and sighed.  “Actually, I _feel_ terrible.”

 

That caught McKay’s attention.  The Major _never_ admitted weakness; _"Never let them see you sweat"_.  He looked up in surprise to meet Teyla’s steady gaze.  Silently she mirrored his own concern, then knelt beside their commander.  “We must get you to the doctor.  Can you stand?”

 

Sheppard pulled himself together with a visible effort, raised his head, and nodded.  “Sure,” he breathed.  “Give me a hand up, wouldja?” He held out his right hand which the Pegasus native grasped and pulled.  Lurching to his feet, he almost toppled the two of them over.

 

“Doctor McKay, I need your assistance.” Teyla grunted, as she swung Sheppard’s right arm over her shoulders.

 

McKay was hesitant; Sheppard’s illness looked contagious.  “Are you sure…” he began, to be silenced by her stern stare.  Gulping, he took the Major’s other arm and put it gingerly over his shoulders, trying to avoid contact with bare skin.  Teyla scooped up John’s pack with her free hand, and the three set off once again.

 

By the time they reached the gate itself, Sheppard was barely conscious, head lolling on his chest.  McKay maneuvered himself to where he could dial Atlantis’ address, then, once the wormhole established, transmitted his ident.

 

“Let us go.” Teyla was worried about the rapid worsening of the pilot’s symptoms, and wanted to get him to Dr. Beckett as soon as possible.  Hurriedly, she and the astrophysicist half-dragged, half-carried their friend to the event horizon, then stepped inside.   

 

 

**4. And So It Begins...**

****

****

Once they had arrived, Sheppard finally released his tenuous grip on consciousness and slid bonelessly to the floor, despite Teyla and McKay’s best efforts.  “John!” Teyla heard Weir cry, then the sound of pounding feet.

 

“Stay back!” Rodney yelled.  “Don’t come any closer!” When everyone came to a skidding halt, he continued authoritatively, “Someone get a med team and stretcher down here, but tell them to wear isolation gear.” He then caught Elizabeth’s eye.  “I think it’s contagious, and I think it’s bad.  When Sheppard sent Ford back, he seemed fine himself.  A few hours later, he’s moribund.  We need to keep this contained.”

 

“We know, Rodney.  When the lieutenant came through several hours ago, he joined two others in the infirmary.  Beckett has no idea how many might have been exposed, but has a separate quarantine room in the sickbay for the people we _do_ know about.” The red-clad medical team arrived just then in masks, gowns, and gloves.  McKay was discouraged to note that Beckett wasn’t among them; things must be really bad in the medical unit.

 

He gulped nervously.  “Teyla and I have had direct contact with the Major here.” He looked down to where the orderlies were lifting the limp man onto the stretcher.  “We have to consider ourselves contaminated, and go to the quarantine area.”

 

Weir nodded.  “I’m glad you realize that, Rodney.  One of these medical personnel will show you the way.”

 

Rodney replied irritably; "I know the way, I showed it to Beckett.  You cannot risk further exposure of personnel to this strain.  We'll go ourselves."

 

“May I contact my people?” asked Teyla. 

 

 _‘How can she stay so calm at a time like this?’_ thought McKay angrily, _'She just doesn't understand the situation!'_

 

“I’ll be happy to give them a message, but I’m afraid we can’t risk you spreading the illness to their village.” Weir was kind but firm.

 

Teyla nodded her head once in acceptance.  “Understandable.  Simply tell them what has happened, and that, so far, I am well.” She turned and without further comment followed the stretcher out the door. 

 

McKay looked haplessly at Weir, who managed a sympathetic smile, then exited as well.

 

 

Once the medics had 'escorted' the two ambulatory teammates to the quarantine room, their pace with the stretcher increased significantly.  Entering the infirmary, they were greeted by Dr. Beckett.  The day had started with Markham’s sick-call, followed two hours later by Stackhouse with the same symptoms.  Both had slowly worsened throughout the day, with fevers up to 103F at times, and periods of delirium alternating with episodes of truly frightening stillness.  He hadn’t worried seriously about possible contagion until Ford had stumbled back through the Stargate with a more advanced case of the same disease.  The lightbulb went on; these three had all been on the trading mission to Velanos two weeks previously.  He had suggested retrieving Sheppard and the rest of the party, but Weir opted to wait until they returned on their own.  Hearing the frantic medical summons to the gateroom, he mentally kicked himself for not being more insistent.  As the limp body was wheeled onto the ward, he left Stackhouse’s bedside to evaluate the new arrival.  “Bring him over here.” The orderlies did as directed, then dead-lifted the Major onto the Ancient diagnostic bed.

 

As the monitors lit up, Carson studied them grimly.  Pulse 136 and thready, BP 86/40… “We need an IV of Normal Saline stat! Bolus two liters, then run it at 150cc.  And get a Dopamine drip set up, just in case.” Studying the readouts in greater detail, Beckett became more concerned.  The Major was clearly worse than any of the other patients, even Sergeant Markham who had been the first to present almost 14 hours previously.  Additionally, the progression of his disease had been much more precipitous, with onset of symptoms less than three hours previously.  The man in question began to thrash deliriously as the nurse tried to get an IV line in; it took two orderlies just to hold his arm down for the procedure.

 

“How’s he doing?” Beckett whirled at the soft voice at his ear.  Like all the other ambulatory personnel in the infirmary, she was dressed in a full gown, mask, and gloves, but Dr. Weir was still easily recognizable.

 

“Not too bloody well.” His brogue always thickened when stressed.  He shook his head despairingly.  “He’s worse than anybody else, and I haven’t a clue as to why.”

 

“McKay and Teyla are not evidently ill but are in quarantine.  They physically had to carry John through the Gate.”

 

Beckett nodded.  “I would have isolated them anyway.  I mean, I have Stackhouse, Markham, Ford, and now Sheppard; I’d have to be blind not to see the pattern, and it would include Rodney and Teyla.”

 

“Their team?”

 

“As it was composed on their mission to Velanos two weeks ago.”

 

“You think they caught something on the planet?”

 

Carson nodded.  “Stands to reason.”

 

“But I thought that Teyla’s people had traded with them before.” Weir’s confusion showed on her face.

 

“They have, on numerous occasions.  But they’ve never gotten sick.”

 

“She still hasn’t.”

 

“It’s possible that they have a natural immunity; I’ll check it out after I get the Major stable.” Beckett felt a small spark of hope.  If Teyla was immune to the illness, or better yet, had gone through it in the past and recovered, she might have antibodies that could be used both for a vaccine and a treatment.  But right now… “Run that in wide open; he needs the fluid.” Beckett returned to his sickest patient while Weir quietly waited in the background.

 

\-----------------------

 

McKay’s fingers drummed a tattoo incessantly on the desk, his chin resting in the palm of his left hand as he stared at the screen of his laptop, waiting for his symptoms to start.  Teyla closed her eyes and took a deep breath; she refused to give into irritation.  It was juvenile, unhelpful, and tended to make any situation worse.  The drumming continued.  ‘ _Still…’_

“Could you please refrain from doing that?” Teyla tried unsuccessfully to keep the frustration out of her voice.

 

McKay stopped.  Mostly because he was now sitting bolt upright, staring at her in astonishment. 

 

“I’ve never actually seen you angry before,” he commented in interest.

 

She closed her eyes and prayed for patience.  “I apologize, Doctor McKay, but I am worried and that…” she gestured helplessly at his right hand, “becomes tiresome after an hour or so.”

 

Now Rodney was rankled.  “So sorry.” He was in sarcastic-mode again.  “I told you before, I react to certain doom in a certain way - it's a bad habit.” He was spoiling for a verbal fight to get his mind off things and was disappointed when Teyla refused to rise to the challenge.

 

She inclined her head once in mock-acceptance.  “Very well then.  Please continue.” She closed her eyes and began to meditate.

 

 _‘Why does she have to be so damn reasonable all the time?’_ he thought.  A sly look at her closed eyes, and he resumed his drumming on the desk.  He saw her initial flinch at the sound, and grinned to himself.

 

 

**5. It Hits The Fan**

****

****

It was well after midnight as Beckett was examining blood samples of everyone affected in the viral analyzer the Ancients had left behind.  He was certain that he had isolated the pathogen - a tiny, irregular virus which seemed most copious in Sheppard’s blood samples, and least prevalent in Stackhouse’s.  Still, there didn’t seem to be any antibodies developing in any of the samples.  He suddenly noticed two of his fields of view overlap and at first worried that he had somehow damaged the machine.  Then he realized with a snort that he was so tired his eyes had crossed.  Pulling away from the viewfinder, he pinched the bridge of his nose to try to dislodge the headache beginning there.  As he searched for another focal point, his eyes wandered over to Sheppard’s bed.  He stared for a moment before his mind registered the data displayed there.  He was on his feet like a shot.

 

“Damn,” he muttered, rushing to the Major’s bedside.  The arterial O2 saturation was dropping despite the non-rebreather and 100% O2, and he was becoming decidedly acidotic.  Hitting the call button, he barked orders to the nurse who momentarily appeared.  “Near as I can tell, he’s going into ARDS from septic shock.  We need to intubate him.  Go grab the ET tubes and a ventilator.” Galas ran to do as she was told.  “Come on, John, hold on…” he ordered under his breath.  “After everything you’ve been through, you can’t let some virus get you.”

 

A hectic half-hour ensued, during which time Sheppard was intubated, sedated, and begun on mechanical ventilation to support his oxygenation.  The PEEP had to be aggressively dialed up to overcome the stiffness of his lungs, and Beckett began to consider the possibility of having a chest tube standing by in case one of them blew.  Finally, though, he reached an acceptable homeostasis, and Beckett drew a deep breath himself.  _‘I’d better come up with something soon, or he’s a goner.’_

 

Ignoring his growing headache, he headed determinedly to the quarantine room.  It was time to get samples from Teyla and McKay, both of whom seemed extraordinarily healthy despite presumably having been exposed to the same bug at the same time as the man he just tubed.  Rapping perfunctorily on the door, he strode in before anyone could reply.

 

Teyla’s eyes widened in alarm.  “Something has happened.”

 

Beckett nodded briefly, setting down his blood-draw tray.  “Sheppard’s much worse.  We had to put him on a ventilator.  The others seem to be holding their own, but they are all getting slowly, progressively, worse.”

 

“I knew it; it’s some sort of plague, isn’t it? We’re all going to die, smothered by our own secretions.  I mean, I’ve always…” McKay was babbling in his panic.

 

Beckett closed his eyes. _‘I don’t have the time to deal with this right now.’_ He finally exploded, “Would you please just SHUT UP?!?” McKay’s jaw closed with an audible _snap_.  Beckett’s eyes reopened.  “That’s much better.  Now, to continue.” He shot Rodney a look that would peel paint.  “I’ve been analyzing samples from everyone who seems to have the disease, and none of them are developing any resistance.  Since you both were exposed as well, yet aren’t ill, I need some samples from you for comparison.”

 

Teyla held her arm out from where she sat in the center of her bunk.  “If it will help the others, you may take all I have.” Beckett flashed her an exhausted smile, then sat down next to the bed.  Rodney moved over and hovered.

 

“That’s my lass. Now, this will only pinch a bit.” Deftly the doctor encircled her arm with a constricting band just tight enough to inhibit venous return, the prepped her antecubital fossa with an alcohol swab.  As he inserted the 18-guage, however, Rodney sneezed.  Loudly.

 

Beckett remained steady, managing not to jerk at the unexpected noise.  However, as he withdrew the needle and applied the Band-Aid, he glowered again at the physicist.  McKay’s eyes widened.  “Oh, God, I’ve got it, haven’t I? Is sneezing the first sign? Do I feel hot to you?”

 

“McKay...” Beckett tried reasonable, but the throbbing in his head was making it difficult.

 

“I think my muscles are aching now, too.  I’m short of breath!”

 

“MCKAY!” Beckett didn’t have any patience left.  “Sit down and let me take a sample.  And slow your breathing; you’re hyperventilating!”

 

McKay plopped despondently into the other chair next to Teyla’s cot and resignedly held out his arm.  Teyla arched her eyebrow.  “Thank you, Doctor Beckett.  He has been having these attacks all night.”

 

Carson looked at her as he repeated the blood-draw on the scientist.  “Difficulty breathing?”

 

“No, panicking.”

 

“Now see here…” Rodney began, then yelped as the needle drove home, perhaps a little firmly.  “Ouch.  That hurts!”

 

“It’ll be over in a minute.”

 

As soon as he had both tubes of blood, Beckett rose to return to his work.  It was now between two and three in the morning, and he rubbed his eyes tiredly, ignoring Rodney’s protestations that he was not panicking, merely 'realistic'.  As he reentered the infirmary he noticed a new flurry of activity around a previously unoccupied bed.  Carefully setting down his two samples, he headed over to see the new patient.  “Let me through,” he growled, and was rewarded by a parting of the medical personnel, to reveal a decidedly ill-appearing Dr. Kavanagh.

 

A quick but thorough examination confirmed that he was indeed suffering from the same illness, and was the first person outside SGA-1 to do so.  Beckett’s hopes it might require some stimulus from the planet Velanos to activate the virus - that this might remain endemic - were dashed now, as _this_ scientist had never been off-world.  It was now official; they were dealing with an epidemic.

 

Kavanagh was already feverish and hypotensive.  Beckett gently grasped his chin and forced him to look the physician in the eyes.  “Dr. Kavanagh.  Can you hear me?”

 

The lanky man’s eyes were glazed.  “Yeah, I hear ya…” he finally managed.  “Whaja want?…” The eyes tried to slide shut of their own volition.

 

“Have you been near Sheppard, Ford, McKay, Stackhouse, Teyla or Markham in the last two weeks?” Beckett had to shake him slightly to get his eyes open.  “Kavanagh! This is important.”

 

The now less-arrogant man’s eyes rolled.  “Lemme think...” he slurred.  “Yeah…”

 

After a moment of silence, Beckett shook him awake again.  “Kavanagh!”

 

The patient creased his brow in concentration.  “Yeah, McKay.  Been spending almost every day of the last two weeks in that twit’s lab; with him sneezing on me and everything.”

 

Beckett’s eyes widened.  “None of the others? Bumping into Sheppard in the hall? Sitting next to Teyla at lunch?”

 

Kavanagh’s eyes had slid shut again, but he shook his head.  “Nah…stay away from ‘em.  Don’ like military types…” he fell soundly asleep at that point.

 

Beckett blinked, then remembered himself.  “OK, 2 liters LR here, too, then 150 cc/hr.  Oh, and someone draw a tube of blood and bring it to me over at the viral analyzer.” He turned on his heel and rushed back to the two test tubes from quarantine.  Kavanagh was sick, the first person not potentially exposed to the virus at its primary source, and the only person that might have transmitted it would have been McKay.  But Kavanagh had the same symptoms as the others, while Rodney seemed perfectly fine…” He failed to notice the slight tremor in his own hands as he began to examine his new samples.

 

 

**6. Works in Theory…**

****

****

An hour later he rubbed his eyes again.  Teyla’s sample had a few viral fragments present, but none active or replicating, yet when new virus was introduced into the sample, nothing seemed to attack it.  It just went…dormant.  Kavanagh’s sample was a great deal like Stackhouse, Markham, and Ford’s; variable amounts of free virons swimming about; host cells marked by viral proteins on the cell wall with actively replicating viral particles; intermittently lysing as they reproduced with varying degrees of enthusiasm.  Now Rodney’s on the other hand…

 

He examined the sample for the hundredth time.  No viral DNA was present in the sample, and when he hit the button to introduce new particles, they were destroyed almost as fast as they were injected.  But by what? It simply happened too quickly for proper analysis.

 

His head had begun pounding with a fervor; Beckett realized that he had been awake for more than 24 hours, and that was after several nights of minimal sleep as they transferred the infirmary and he over-enthusiastically checked out the new equipment.  The exhaustion was not helping his deductive reasoning at this point.  _‘Coffee.  That’s what I need.’_   He shuffled over to the pot on the nearby counter.  _‘Now if the Ancients had been really clever, they would have had built-in coffeepots.’_ He chuckled dryly, then paused.  _‘Wait a minute.  The Ancients.  The Ancients’ gene.  ‘ATA’ gene…activation gene…’_ He narrowed his eyes as he tried to pin down the elusive thought through the fog that clouded his mind.  Somehow, he recognized that this was an important piece of the puzzle, so he decided to map it out.  _‘Sheppard is the most severely affected; he has the only natural gene.  Ford, Kavanagh, Markham, Kavanagh, and McKay have all received my gene therapy; all but McKay are sick to some degree, but none as bad as Sheppard.’_ He sipped his coffee, then wiped absently at the sweat that had appeared on his forehead.  _‘Teyla doesn’t have the gene, and the virus in her system is dormant…inactive…hasn’t been activated! It takes a combination of the virus AND THE ACTIVATION GENE to make a person sick!’_ That implied genetic manipulation of the virus by some enemy of the Ancients, and had ramifications that Carson decided to file away for future consideration.  Right now, though, he had to find a cure, and Rodney was the key.

 

Taking his steaming cup with him, he headed back to the viral analyzer.  He allowed himself a moment of reflection as he stared at it and sipped the liquid caffeine.  _‘Who would have imagined that I would be needing this thing just over a week after it was discovered?’_ He snorted as he recalled how offended Rodney had been when he made him lie down on the analyzer’s gantry.

 

 _‘Wait a second! It had reported him CLEAR of virus at that time.  How could that be if he was the one who passed it on to Kavanagh?’_ He considered the timing of events as carefully as his exhausted brain would allow.  _‘McKay et al go to Velanos and pick up the virus and bring it back.  It has a two week incubation period, so McKay exposed Kavanagh that day or the next…McKay and Grodin discover this Medical Unit a day or so later…’_ He groaned as he realized that Grodin was likely to occupy the next bed in the infirmary.  _‘McKay showed the place to me; I found the scanner and it read him clear of any harmful virus…Shite.  That means…Damnit; if I’m right, I don’t have much more time to figure this out…’_ His headaches, tremors, and sweating began to take on a more ominous significance than mere fatigue.

 

He headed to the analyzer with a sick feeling in his stomach.  Drawing a tube of blood out of his own arm, he placed it in the analyzer, then steeled himself to look.  The plate swarmed with viral particles, replicating almost as fast as Sheppard’s.  He sat heavily and stared over at where the pilot lay, still on the ventilator.  It made sense; he had the naturally occurring form of the gene as well.  Oh, this was not good…not good at all.

 

He slowly stripped off his gown and gloves, and removed his mask.  After all, what was the point anymore? They only hindered his movement, and he wouldn’t be leaving the infirmary any time soon.

 

## ‘Still, that means he exposed me within the fifteen minutes between coming into my old lab and the scanner reading him as clear.  So what caused him to be … Oh, you must be joking!’ His eyes widened with comprehension.

With sudden energy Beckett grabbed his laptop and tapped out a quick note:

 

_“To Whom It May Concern:_

_“If I am found unconscious, the following information is vital to discovering a treatment for this virus.  It appears to be a form of genetic weapon aimed at the Ancients, as it only activates in the presence of the 'ATA' gene.  In individuals without the gene such as Teyla, once exposed, the virus becomes dormant, but they remain carriers.  On base, the people having received my mouse retroviral gene therapy also appear susceptible, but to a lesser degree than the natural gene carriers.  I have tested myself and find that I carry a viral load consistent with exposure almost two weeks ago.  However, like Kavanagh, the only possible vector for my contamination is Rodney McKay, who currently has no trace of the disease in his system and whose blood appears incapable of being infected.  Further, there is no natural immune response mounted against this pathogen.  The vital question you must answer, if I am incapacitated before I can, is ‘What makes Dr. McKay immune?’  The only thing I can postulate is the ‘viral analyzer’ itself.  I hypothesize that it may not only be diagnostic, but therapeutic as well for the patient placed on the attached platform.  As I am currently suffering symptoms of the advanced disease, I propose to try my theory on myself.  If successful, you would not be reading this note.  If not, you will know where my deductive reasoning has lead me thus far, and hopefully work out a cure for the others._

_“Good luck and God Speed,_

_“Carson”_

 If he were to suddenly worsen, his team needed to know about the theories he was testing.  Next, he rushed to the gantry portion of the viral analyzer and lay down on it in a position where he could just barely reach the control panel.  _‘Here goes nothing!’_ He punched up the ‘scanner’, then quickly lay supine.  As the blue line began at his feet, he noticed a burning sensation.  The feeling grew exponentially as the line moved up his body; he bit his lip to keep from howling aloud.  No one would be helped if his experiment were interrupted because of his weakness, nor did he want to worry the other patients within easy earshot.

 

He glanced at the closed door to the patient care area.

 

 _‘When McKay said that this hurt I didn't take him at face value…I wonder if these walls are soundproof?’_ He had almost reached incoherence, but still managed not to cry out.  _‘Of course, his viral load was significantly lower two weeks ago.’_ A white-hot tidal wave flowed over his brain; nevertheless, somehow he managed to stay conscious.  _‘If I pass out now, I’ll not wake up for hours, and I have too much to do...too many lives depending on me…especially if this works.’_ As the ‘scanner’ ground to a halt, he lay panting in exhaustion as he recovered himself.  When he felt he could manage it, he sat up, then shakily swung his legs over the side.  He noticed a metallic taste as he staggered around to the front of the console.  ‘Clear of pathogens’ flashed at him in brilliant ancient writing.  He sagged to the chair in relief; he’d misunderstood the machine.  It didn’t just scan for viruses and recommend treatment - it WAS the treatment! That was why Rodney was clear.  The effects must last for at least a couple of weeks, so it was still destroying the newly-introduced viral elements he put in the blood sample.  He was galvanized; there was work to do!

 

“Nurse Galas! Nurse Galas!” He burst into the patient ward, not caring who he disturbed.

 

The rumpled blonde woman came hustling over from the cot where she had been taking a quick catnap.  “Yes Doctor Beck…Where’s your mask? You’re bleeding!” she pointed at his lower lip.

 

Running a hand across it, he came away with blood.  _‘So that’s what that taste is; I must have bitten through my lower lip.  I guess we’d better narcotize the patients before we put them through, or the shock alone may kill them.’_ He grinned despite his macabre appearance.  “Never mind all that! I know how to treat them.” He began issuing orders.  “Get the whole team up and have two orderlies get Markham over here on a stretcher, ready to go if it works on Teyla.  We’ll need lots of Versed and Fentanyl, too.  I’m going to get Teyla myself and explain what’s going on.” As he headed out the door towards quarantine, he could have sworn he heard Galas mutter, “I wish _I_ knew what was going on,” but he could have been mistaken.

 

He didn’t bother to knock as he rushed into the isolation quarters and locked the door open.  “Teyla! I’ve got a treatment, but I need to try it on you first since you have the smallest viral load.”

 

“Carson, are you insane?  Do you know what _time_ it is?” groused McKay from his bunk, then shut up as he saw the Doctor's bloodied visage.

 

The physician blinked.  He hadn’t a clue.  Nor did he care, but he looked at his watch to humor the physicist.  “It’s 06:00.  Come on, Teyla.”

 

The Athosian rose and went quickly to the door as Rodney called plaintively, “Hey, does this mean you've found a cure?  What about me?”

 

Beckett didn’t pause in his stride.  “You’re immune.  Now go away!” Grabbing Teyla by the hand, he rushed through the still-open door, leaving Rodney speechless with surprise.

 

 

 

 

 

**7. Under Control?**

****

****

Upon entering the infirmary, Beckett realized that he now had quite an audience.  “Teyla, as I told you on the way over here, you have a minimal viral load, and it mostly seems to be dormant because you don’t carry either the natural or artificial 'ATA' gene.  This treatment is likely to cause some discomfort, but in your case I suspect not too much.  However, if you require painkillers or sedatives…” he gestured meaningfully towards the medicines on the counter.

 

“No thank you, doctor, I am certain that I will be fine.”

 

“Now then, if you will lie down here.” Presently the blue light did its work, and Beckett was gratified to see that the stalwart young lady only winced once throughout the procedure.  Although the screen read ‘Clear’, he ran a confirmatory blood test on both Teyla and himself.  He grinned like an complete idiot when they were both negative.

 

“So that’s why you said that I’m ‘immune’.”

 

Carson turned, surprised to see McKay; he’d rather expected the man to go back to his quarters and sleep until later in the day.  “Yes.  The effects seem to last for at least a couple of weeks.  Your blood sample was killing off the virus as fast as I could mix it in.  Remember that little ‘ouch’ you had when I ‘scanned’ you? That was actually the machine destroying this deadly virus! When it says you’re ‘clear’, it means that the **_treatment_** is complete, and you are _now_ clear of harmful viruses.”

 

Turning to Galas, he smiled warmly.   “Let’s get Markham up here.”

 

\------------------

 

Meanwhile, Weir had entered the control room with a trepidation in her heart that she managed to keep out of her step. Once she got there she planned to call Beckett again. She had checked with the infirmary at intervals throughout the night to see if any progress had been made, and had been almost as disheartened as Beckett when Kavanagh was brought in.  Even without medical training, she understood the implications of the exasperating scientist having contracted the illness; it was outside the originally-infected group and into the general population of the base.  There was no telling who would be next - if not everyone.  She had managed to catch a few hours of fitful sleep before giving up and heading for the main monitor room.  Perhaps working on her routine daily tasks would help get her mind off the unseen killer stalking the halls of her base.

 

She smiled to herself as she topped the stairs.  A glance at her watch showed that it was only 05:30, yet Dr. Grodin was already hard at work.  She shook her head appreciatively.  She didn’t know what she would do without his steady voice always at her side.  He probably couldn’t sleep any more than she could, and had come to the main control room to distract himself.

 

“Doctor Grodin, you’re up early.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he spun around, surprised.  Her pleasure at seeing her trusted advisor rapidly changed to consternation as she got a closer look at him.  A fine sheen of sweat covered every inch of exposed skin, and even through his shirt he felt uncomfortably warm to her hand.  His hand trembled slightly as he removed it from the control panel to Atlantis’ main sensor array, and his eyes were glassy.  “Peter? Are you all right?” The butterflies in her stomach told her otherwise, but she prayed that he would deny her fears.

 

A shaky hand went to his forehead.  “Actually, Elizabeth, I…don’t believe that I am…”

 

She pursed her lips, all business.  _‘OK, this is just another problem; DEAL with it,’_ she told herself firmly.  Snaking an arm beneath his shoulder and draping his arm around her neck, she helped him to his feet.  “Come on.  Time for you to personally check out our new infirmary.” Taking slow, careful steps, the pair headed down the stairs.

 

\------------------

 

Working feverishly, the medical team managed to clear the virus out of all 6 patients but one, and Beckett got his entire staff familiar with the workings of the antiviral machine.  Sheppard was saved for last, as Beckett's experience had demonstrated the need to assess how stressful the treatment was at each stage of the disease before trying it on their sickest patient.  ‘The operation was a success, but the patient died’ was not a win in his log.  Finally only the pilot remained.

 

Carefully wheeling the transport gurney and the ventilator with it, Sheppard was gently transferred with his bedsheet onto the platform.  Beckett titrated in just enough Fentanyl to keep him comfortable without dropping his blood pressure significantly.  He knew it would not be enough, but he was convinced that the Major was as good as he was going to get. Carson hit the button to begin the scan.  John grimaced as the blue demarcation crossed his pelvis then thrashed as the beam reached his chest, then laid quietly.  Beckett was almost afraid to look at the monitor for the results.

 

“He’s clear!” The doctor practically sagged in relief; "And his vital signs are stable".  The whole room let out its collectively-held breath, then erupted in activity.  Despite being finally free of the virus, the damage it had left in its wake still had to be dealt with.  At least now they had a fighting chance.  Turning again to Galas, Beckett began, “We need to get the Major back into his bed; then we need to start weaning him off the vent as soon as possible.  Get me weaning parameters, then start turning down the FIO2 and watch his sats: I want it below 50% as soon as possible.  Most of the others can be treated symptomatically, but I suspect that Ford and Kavanagh will still need bedrest.  Also, we need to screen the rest of the base, and treat anyone who comes up positive.” His sleep-deprived mind recalled an earlier deduction.  “And send someone _now_ to get Grodin down here; knowing him, he’s ready to collapse any minute, and hasn’t breathed a word of complaint.”

 

“Too late.” Weir’s voice caused him to turn around.  The Atlantis commander staggered in, supporting a semi-conscious Dr. Grodin.  “He was at the sensor array.” She gestured to the machine.  “I take it you’ve found a treatment?”

 

Beckett nodded.  “Let’s get him up here, then get an IV started so we can keep him comfortable.” Soon Weir’s right-hand-man was declared free of virus as well, but sentenced to a minimum of 24 hours bedrest.  Peter was too fatigued to object.

 

Weir smiled.  “Dr. Beckett, it looks like you have everything here under control.  I’ll get people down in groups of five for screening, starting with those most likely exposed to SGA-1 in the last two weeks, or anyone who feels ill.” She paused and quirked an eyebrow, “Good job, Carson.”

 

He found himself smiling back tiredly, then suddenly found himself sitting on the floor as his legs turned to rubber.  All the exhaustion of the last several days had suddenly caught up with him, not to mention the drain of fighting off a severe case of the virus himself.  The room wheeled counterclockwise and, from a distance, he heard voices calling, “Carson!”, “Dr. Beckett!”, “Are you all right?”.  _‘No, I’m not all right,’_ he thought irritably.  _‘I need a nap!’_ With that the world slid away into the warm darkness.

 

 

**8. Sleep? Who Needs It?**

****

****

Weir could not express her relief; there for a minute it looked like the entire Atlantis crew would die and the mission fail at the hands of a lousy microbe.  She took a deep breath.  “Good job, Carson.” It was inadequate, but it would do for now.  The exhausted man gave her a tremulous smile in return.

 

She examined him critically.  The haggard doctor positively drooped where he stood, radiating fatigue in every nuance of movement.  The stubble on his chin was the same color as the circles beneath his eyes, the blue of which had glazed to gray.  A fine sheen of sweat covered his face, reminiscent of Dr. Grodin earlier in the day.  She knew that doctors often worked long hours, but hers appeared to be on the brink of collapse.  _‘He looks as bad as Sheppard did when he got back,’_ was her startled conclusion.  _‘I wonder if he’s got the virus?’_

She opened her mouth to ask about the physician’s condition, when he forestalled comment by quietly sinking to the floor.  He looked about himself bemusedly, as if unsure why his legs had suddenly betrayed him and turned to rubber.  “Carson!” she exclaimed.

 

“Dr. Beckett!” The head nurse was at his side in an instant.

 

The commander knelt beside him as well, grasping his shoulder gently.  He seemed to be staring into the distance at something no one else could see.  She shook him gently, “Are you all right?” Carson blinked up at her in irritation, tried to focus, then toppled into an unconscious heap.

 

“You two! Get a gurney.” Galas sent two orderlies scurrying as she unshipped her stethoscope and listened first to Carson’s heart and then his lungs.  Nodding, she helped the two young men hoist the unconscious physician to the stretcher and transport him to one of the diagnostic beds.  Weir followed discretely, taking care not to get in their way.

 

Galas’ eyes narrowed as she stared at the readout.  “BP 100/50, pulse 130, temperature 99…he’s almost as bad off as Dr. Grodin.  Let’s get some fluid hanging.”

 

As Weir watched the head nurse treat the Pegasus Galaxy's only board-certified physician, she felt a nudge on her shoulder.  Turning, she saw a grim Dr. McKay standing beside her, holding Beckett’s laptop.  “Yes, Rodney, what is it?” Weir could be patient when she had to be.

 

“Just this.” He swung the screen around so she could read it.  Her eyes widened as she took in the implications of the note that Beckett had written before climbing onto the machine that had proven to be their salvation.

 

“His first test subject was himself? Without even telling anyone that he was sick?”

 

McKay nodded.  “Seems so.  Explains why he tested both his blood _and_ Teyla’s after he treated her.”

 

“Doctor Beckett stated that we were both free of the infection.” Teyla added.  Until that moment Weir hadn’t even noticed the Athosian’s presence.

 

The commander looked at the insensible physician with a mixture of anger and gratitude.  “Carson, when you wake up, we’re going to have a little talk.”

 

 

Actually, their ‘talk’ was delayed by Beckett’s condition; while the other victims gradually recovered, he continued to lay senseless and unresponsive.  Both Sergeants Markham and Stackhouse were released to ‘72-hour-Quarters’ later that afternoon; Dr. Kavanagh, Dr. Grodin, and Lt. Ford were discharged the next morning with strict instructions to ‘take it easy’.  Even Sheppard improved with amazing rapidity; he was extubated less than 24 hours after his virus was eradicated, and began taking oral liquids that evening.  Although he was still weak as a kitten and had to have help eating, he was grateful to be alive.  The infirmary resumed its normal operations as things quieted down, leaving them with just the two special patients and the occasional visitor.

 

Sheppard had only been awake a few hours before he noticed the occupant of the bed next to his.  His brows creased in concern as he gestured for the nearby nurse’s aide.  “What happened to Carson?” he asked, pointing at the motionless patient.

 

“He tried to work himself to death.” The young woman summarized her boss’ condition to the best of her understanding.

 

“Really?” John’s eyebrows crawled towards his hairline.

 

“That’s a gross oversimplification.” Rodney had come in unnoticed and caught the exchange.  The girl looked embarrassed, blushed, and hurried off to be about other duties.

 

“And ‘hello’ to you, too, McKay.” Sheppard was mildly irked.

 

Rodney seemed insufferably pleased with himself.  “You’re looking better,” he commented smugly.

 

Sheppard shrugged.  “I’m feeling better.  That virus-killing machine really did the trick.” He tilted his head.  “So, what _did_ happen to the doc?”

 

“It’s a long story.”

 

Sheppard’s eyes narrowed.  “I have the time.”

 

\-------------------

 

Weir entered the infirmary for what felt like the hundredth time since the epidemic began, to check on the two remaining patients. Sheppard was sitting up in bed reading his book, while Beckett just…lay there.

 

“Is there something I can help you with?” Galas hurried over when she saw Dr. Weir come in.

 

Weir pointed her chin towards the still-unconscious man. “Any idea what’s wrong with him?”

 

The nurse sounded as frustrated as the commander, and busied her hands with the IV tubing while she talked. “No, I don’t. After we got him rehydrated, his vitals have been stable. I’ve checked his blood three times for any viral remnant, and run every other test short of 'serum porcelain' levels. There just isn’t anything to explain this.” Helplessly she pulled the blanket up on the still-recumbent form. 

 

“I see.” Weir kept her composure at all times.

 

“I think he’s just tired.” Major Sheppard, almost forgotten by the two women, threw in his two cents worth.

 

Galas and Weir turned towards him, astonished. “I beg your pardon?”

 

Sheppard gestured at the physician. “Come on; he was exhausted before this stuff even started. I don’t think he’d slept more than two or three hours on any given night for over a week.  He was like a kid in a candy shop.  Then, after people started getting sick he didn’t sleep at all. Couple that with having the more virulent form of the disease due to his native 'ATA' gene, then going through the therapy _without anesthesia_ …I think he deserves a little rest, don’t you?”

 

Weir’s worried frown didn’t abate as she replied, “I hope you’re right, John. I sincerely hope you’re right.”

 

\--------------------

 

The light seemed terribly bright when he opened his eyes. He squinted them shut again, then raised a hand as shade from the worst of the glare. He found himself lying on one of the Ancient diagnostic beds in a relatively quiet infirmary. _‘I never did get a chance to try one of these myself,’_ he thought bemusedly, then shrugged. _‘I guess I have now.’_

“Doctor Beckett, you’re awake!” Nurse Galas hurried over from where she’d been helping John eat in the next bed. Carson did a double-take; helping _John_ eat? The last Carson knew, Sheppard was going to be on the vent for at least a day, maybe more. _‘How long have I been unconscious, anyway?’_

“Hey Doc.” The Major waved weakly from where he sat, propped up in bed by pillows. “We’ve been worried about you.”

 

Galas was suddenly at Carson’s side, checking the readings on the monitors. “We most certainly have.” Her mouth set in a thin line that her eyebrows tried to match.

 

 _‘Uh-oh. I know that look.’_ Beckett always felt like a truant little boy when his nurse glared like that. It reminded him of his Internship days.  He sighed, closing his eyes. “And what have I done now?” he asked tiredly.

 

 _‘Almost killed yourself trying to save everyone else!  You worried the whole base half to death…’_ She adjusted the IV rate, then glanced at his face. Her scowl softened; she could never stay mad at Dr. Beckett for very long. She reached down to manually confirm his pulse, its steady rhythm palpably reassuring, and took a deep breath. “Nothing at all, Dr. Beckett,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”

 

He cracked open an eye and stared at her suspiciously.  She merely flashed a beatific smile and went off to do some charting.

 

Next he turned his head to stare at Sheppard, who was grinning ear-to-ear. “I thought she was mad a’ me?”

 

Sheppard shrugged one shoulder and spread his hands. “Hey, don’t ask me, I’m just recovering here.”

 

Weir chose that moment to enter the room. “Gentlemen. Glad to see you both awake.”

 

Beckett struggled unsuccessfully to assume a sitting position, and finally settled for leaning on his elbows. “Thank ye, Doctor Weir. How long have I been out?”

 

“Nearly three days.” Beckett stared wide-eyed.  She moved to stand between the two men, and grasped his right hand. “We’ve missed you.”

 

Beckett blushed slightly; he was never comfortable when people worried about _him_. “Thank you, ma’am.”

 

Elizabeth sighed. She had wanted to berate him for his audacity; how dare he risk his own life like that?  For reasons she did not examine too closely, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she squeezed his hand tightly. “Don’t put us through this again, all right?”

 

Beckett smiled back reassuringly. “I’ll try not to.”  He attempted to swing his legs off the bed and sit up, but found the world swaying alarmingly.

 

A gentle hand pushed him back onto his pillows, and he looked up to see Elizabeth’s concerned face. “I’m afraid that it’s going to be a while until you are back on your feet, Doctor. Just rest.” As she made her way to the door, she paused to add, “Nurse Galas is in charge of sickbay for the time being. You are to follow her instructions _to the letter_ if you ever want to be released. Understand?”

 

Carson gulped. He knew how to choose his battles wisely, and this was one he couldn’t win. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied meekly.  Besides he'd earned a little rest - but he’d _already_ slept _THREE DAYS_!

 

“Good.” She smiled fondly at that point. “Be well,” floated back as she walked away.

 

“I will,” he murmured. “ _We_ will.”

 

 

The End

 

 


End file.
